


a chance to dance

by bucksnatalia



Series: soviet spouses drabbles [1]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: #BuckyNat Week, Ballet, F/M, Memory Loss, Mild Sexual Content, Red Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucksnatalia/pseuds/bucksnatalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I ever needed was the music and the mirror and the chance to dance for you. </p>
<p>Drabble prompt for #buckynat week 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a chance to dance

The dance studio across the street is far too easy to get into.

People sneak in all the time to watch the ballerinas practice — but the Soldier uses the space for himself, when all the little dancers have cleared out and the place is meant to be empty for the night. The training areas of the Red Room are never empty like it is here, never quiet. It’s the privacy he needs.

Never once has he been disturbed; the space has always been empty, as it should be, and his is always the only reflection staring back at him in the huge floor-to-ceiling mirrors. He performs a dance of his own — a series of slow movements, stretching his arms and his legs, working on his balance and his breathing. Training is hard, teaching is harder, and finding refuge here in the silent, open space helps to calm him, especially on the days when his mind feels as though it’s tearing itself apart.

The space had always been his without fail, until the night _she_ arrived — Romanova. The Soldier heard her coming and hid himself, tucked away in a doorway cast in shadow, where she wouldn’t be able to see him. She shouldn’t have been there — but neither should he, really.

He watched her from his hiding place as she took position before the mirrors, body curled in on itself, and as his brow began to furrow in confusion, Romanova transformed into a thing of true beauty. Every step she made was graceful, flowing, and he was utterly transfixed by her.

The days came and went. The Soldier trained Romanova in the daytime, and watched her dance in the night. He doesn’t know when it happened, but a time came when he could swear she met his glance in the shadows — and that she _smiled_. Though they never speak a word of it to each other, there’s a silent awareness between them, a beautiful secret only they share. He watches her and, as ridiculous of a thought as it is, it seems like she dances for _him_.

It’s really only a matter of time before he joins her — not in the studio, no, but in the privacy of his living quarters, learning a new dance between the sheets; memorizing the different ways the other moves and feels and loves, finding a rhythm in one another, stretching their bodies to new limits of bliss. Never has anything felt so perfect, so _right_.

Of course, it cannot last. The Soldier loses the memories of her, of the nights they shared, of the way she danced. His routine returns to the way it was before her — training, teaching, sneaking into the dance studio to calm his mind, to keep it from falling to pieces, and repeat.

Every so often a dancer sneaks into the studio as well to practice her routine in the quiet, open space, her red hair tied back in a tight bun and her skirt twirling about her as she spins and leaps — and as the Soldier watches from his hiding place in the shadows, though he does not know her, he’ll swear that she dances only for him.


End file.
